Joe
by Shurely
Summary: In a tavern, somewhere on an island in the West Indies, a group of mercenary thugs encounter a strange man: not a hero, but not someone to be crossed, either.


Even at night, women, dressed scantily and in vibrant yellow and red, fanned themselves, straining to keep their smiles in check whilst sweat trickled down their cheeks, leaving streaks in their cosmetics. Their dresses stank of the manure that was trundled around the town during the day, but the perfume that they had tried to mask it with only worsened the foul odour. They lingered at the corner of the streets, shimmying and gyrating under the lamplights and swarm of flies, gazing with heavy-lidded eyes at the men whose attention strayed from reaching home. Hands on the pommels of their sabres, baring their chipped and glinting teeth, thugs swaggered into the taverns. Their hands would dart out, hooking around the waist of a prostitute, and she would force a giggle from between gritted teeth and stroke the coarse fur of her captor's chest. When he buried his face into her neck, sinking her teeth into the skin there, she moaned enthusiastically, one eye open to watch where he planted his hands. His friend would slap the posterior of the barmaid, his guffaws half-strangled when she tipped his order over his head. Young men staggered as they made their way out of the taverns, clothes reeking and damp at the pits and collar. On the other side of the island, a woman tutted at the cacophony of raucous cheering and singing, the other half of the bed empty.

Guillaume Le Voyou spent the last of every month in the tavern, flexing his muscles, belching into the faces of the women sat on his knees. Ale dribbled from the bristles protruding from his chin; when he threw his head back, flecks were cast off. Around the table, mercenaries laid their weapons out and placed bets on drinking games and who would take which woman back to their bed. Their voices dominated the rest in the tavern, bellowing to each other, slamming tankards and bottles together. Le Voyou shoved aside the harlot playing with his hat, flicking a coin at her as she scrabbled to stand up. A moment later, before she could test the coin for its worth, a man seized the back of her dress, ignoring the rip that his vigour made and spreading his legs so that she could fall between.

But Le Voyou's dark, bullet-like eyes surveyed the room, over the men swaying together and the bartender breaking an unco-operative patron's teeth, until they settled upon a man and his mistress in the centre of the tumult. He stood slowly, swigging from his bottle, kicking the feet and stamping on toes that extended from under the tables. The man saw him, swallowed, looked at his mistress, looked at him again, and decided to take a drink. His mistress, fair-haired, slim and petite, followed his eyes, and her own widened. She fumbled with her dress, tightening the collar to expose less flesh. The thudding of his boots came to a halt. A lock of blonde danced into her eyes; she reached up to brush it away, but Le Voyou moved first, his rough fingers grazing her cheek.

"C-Can I help you?" said the man.

Le Voyou kept his eyes on the mistress, who seemed fascinated by the floor. "_En fait_, _tu peux_." The man hesitated, and he fixed his glare on him. "You can piss off."

The man flushed scarlet, and looked away. His gaze locked with that of a stranger's in the corner, whose eyes glinted from beneath the rim of his dark hat, one side folded, the medallion around his neck gleaming silver. Dressed in leather, lithe and relaxed, the stranger regarded him coolly. But if the man's silent plea was received, the stranger did not react. Le Voyou grabbed the man's jaw with his other hand, wrenching his attention back to the present moment.

"Did you hear me?" he growled, blood swelling where his nails pierced the skin.

The man opened his mouth, and then closed it. Le Voyou shoved him away, kicking the chair so the man toppled backwards and landed on his hands and knees. Then he cast a glance at the mistress, grinning when he caught her eye, and righted the chair to seat himself upon it. The man muttered under his breath; Le Voyou swivelled around and sent his foot into his side, chuckling when he crumpled back to the floor.

"That is better," said Le Voyou, smiling at the woman, whose fingers were twitching in her lap. "Now tell me, _mademoiselle_, what is your name?"

Her throat undulated, and she replied, "Rosetta."

"A pretty name," said Le Voyou, "for a pretty woman. Why ever would you accompany this _merde de chien _to such a place? Unless..." His hand stretched forwards, slithering up her thigh, creasing the dress and pulling it higher. She flinched. Her eyes darted to the man on the floor; he looked at her, at the hand on her thigh, and his features contorted. "You wished for better company?"

He was interrupted from further advances by a mercenary, bright-eyed and sober. "Guillaume," he said gruffly, "we better go. Gotta be up early for the ship on the morrow. Take 'er and let us leave."

Le Voyou smirked. "_Un moment_, Eduard. Sit your arse down. This is the last time we will be in the West Indies, so have some ale, why don't you?" He gestured to the woman. "Meet Rosetta. A fine lady, no?"

"Very fine," admitted Eduard, his gaze roaming over her lips and chest. A movement below made him tilt his head. "And who is that man, crawling on the ground?"

"A deaf fool. Pass me a drink, if you will not have one yourself."

The man clutched the edge of a empty table, heaving for breath, wincing when he touched his side. Gingerly, he rose to his feet, and glimpsed a moving shadow in the corner. But then the sound of Le Voyou's voice carried over the ringing in his ears: "guarded a plantation...rebellious slaves...ship to New York...in bed-"

He surged forwards, lips twisted, grabbing a bottle and smashing its top before pushing the barmaid out of his way. Le Voyou uncorked the bottle with his teeth and spat it out to the side; in his peripheral vision, he saw the man striding towards him, and humphed when he took out his pistol. "_Excusez-moi_," he said to Rosetta, and then stood. He levelled the pistol at the man. The man lifted the broken bottle. The barmaid cried out.

Her cry became a scream.

The man froze. Le Voyou furrowed his brow. Then, after a moment, he lowered his pistol. The man gaped; blood gushed over his lips. His hand slack, the bottle fell to the floor and shattered. He looked down to the hook in his stomach, and arched his back when it tore upwards to his chest. When it was wrenched out, he collapsed. Le Voyou regarded the man in leather, scarf swathed around his mouth, and then looked to Eduard; the mercenary took small steps backwards. Instead of laughter, the tavern was filled with the sound of chair scraping and the thudding of feet. Then bottles exploded as the bartender fired with his pistols, and the stranger leapt past the mercenaries, vaulting through the window, his dark attire merging with the shadows. The bartender cursed.

"What in the devil..." he said, wiping his forehead. "Christ..."

"_Merde_," snarled Le Voyou. "Eduard, _allons-y_!"

The mercenary Eduard found his bearings and grumbled something, wringing his hands. Le Voyou turned to where the other mercenaries were waiting, tankards forgotten, and jerked his head at them. One tossed Eduard his sword from the table.

"Eduard," said the other mercenary.

Eduard sneered, "I'm coming. What about the lady, Guillaume?"

Le Voyou's hand gripped her arm, yanking her from her paralysis. She stumbled as she stood.

"She comes also," said Le Voyou.

The sweat on his body was nothing compared to the sweat an hour later, where it masked his skin like a film; his hands slipped from her neck, leaving bruises as dark as the night, and droplets from his forehead stung his eyes. She screamed, writhing, pleading; her cheeks tasted of salt. He grasped and squeezed, but his hands kept losing purchase. Her name rolled off his tongue, soft and pretty, and his eyes closed when she howled and bucked into him. He kept them closed as he made it her last breath. Yet she had slumped before he even found her neck again.

Le Voyou laced his trousers, huffing, and then wiped the moisture on his palms on his trousers. Then he walked away from the alley, straightening his jacket and looking left and right to decide which route to take to his lodgings. He paused to watch a fox skulk into a house's back pen, its fur ragged and patchy. The chickens inside did not stir as it began to dig, throwing dirt out.

At first, all that was audible was the buzzing of insects and scuffling of the fox digging. The taverns were quiet now; bartenders and their barmaids swept the tables of the bottles, scoffing at those passed out on the floor. One tavern in particular was being scoured of blood. The women sauntered through the sultry hours of the night to return to their establishments, some leading infatuated youths with them. Le Voyou inhaled through his mouth, and tasted the stench of his exercise, thick and sour.

Then the grass rustled, and he whirled round. The darkness shifted, a figure kneeling over the blonde corpse, and there it waited, time slowing to a crawl whilst Le Voyou's hands found the hilts of his sword and pistol, patient, quiet. The next sound was a voice, a deep rasp.

"_Requiescat in pace_."

"_Qui êtes-vous_?" demanded Le Voyou, flexing his wrist, rotating the sword.

The shadows followed the leather, shrouding the finest details from view; yet a flash of light, a sliver reflecting the fire in the lamps hung from porches and the shine of white orb in the sky, appeared by his side. In the recesses of the night, he wore a hat, one side folded and sown; what lay beneath was wrapped in cloth. A round medallion, cool silver, hung from his neck from a cord. He cocked his head, poised, and Le Voyou fired. He flitted to the side, and then he was running, causing Le Voyou to slash with his sword, the ringing of metal echoing in his ears, swiping upwards, his pistol kicked out of his hand, grappling for the neck. He wrestled with a leather-clad limb, felt it crack into his jaw, his mouth tasting of blood. Gasping, he blinked furiously. The world shimmered before his eyes - shimmered, and then blurred. The buildings grew sideways. His other arm pinned down, he found his hand devoid of his sword, and used the empty fingers to touch his throat. They came away dark.

Guillaume Le Voyou boarded the ship later that morning, hat dipped low over his eyes, a man in the crowd that bustled to find space on the vessel. Eduard's gaze raked the ship, but there was no familiar wild beard, nor could a guttural French accent be distinguished. When dawn broke in grey, yellow and blue, he watched the receding bay, flanked by groaning mercenaries, craning their necks over the edge. Below deck, Le Voyou's bunk was occupied by luggage stowed by a large family who didn't have the room for it in their area; Eduard had seen them load it, and he had crossed his arms, silent.

His arms still crossed, leaning on the wooden rail, he glanced to the side. A man in leather slipped past a lady and her chaperone, the latter of which caressed the lady's gloved hand; she smiled sympathetically and moved it away. Eduard kept his eyes on the man in leather, who hesitated and turned his head, fists clenched, hat drawn over his face.

But the woman giggled and ruffled the chaperone's hair affectionately, making him blush and simper. Eduard's lips twitched, but then he frowned: in that moment of distraction, the man in leather was but a memory, a shade of dark brown that had stalked back into the night from which he recalled its first appearance.

Eduard jabbed a fellow mercenary with his elbow, who replied groggily, "What?"

"This ship is set for New York."

"And? Your point being?"

He spat into the water. "I don't know - not yet." He looked from the woman and her chaperone, to the island from which they sailed, and cursed. "Not sure I want to, though."

A/N: From what I've seen, I'm surprised this hasn't been done before. Not only is the Night Stalker a badass, but he's an _Assassin_ - apparently. This isn't usually my style, but when you write about dark characters, I think it helps to set the scene. Anyway, thank you for reading, and please review!


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